


I'm so lucky that a boy so pretty has a beautiful heart

by sammywolfdamon



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: After Party, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Flirting, Billy is teaching Steve how to surf, Bisexual Billy Hargrove, Blow Jobs, Boners, Bottom Billy Hargrove, California, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gay Sex, Hair Kink, Hair Washing, Haircuts, M/M, Napping, Nice Billy, Shirtless, Shower Sex, Soft Boys, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Teasing, Top Steve Harrington, Wet & Messy, scissors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:10:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18070544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammywolfdamon/pseuds/sammywolfdamon
Summary: “Did you say you were getting a haircut today?”“Yeah. My manager at work was complaining again. Just thought I’d chop it right the fuck off.”“Want me to cut it?”Steve eyes him warily, spoon half-raised. “Do you know how?”Billy nods. “My sister taught me. I even have clippers, for the edges.”“What about scissors?”Billy shrugs, abandoning his oats. He disappears from the kitchen, reappears with a pair of bona-fide styling scissors. “Yeah. C’mon. Lemme have at it.”ORBilly cuts Steve's hair.





	I'm so lucky that a boy so pretty has a beautiful heart

**Author's Note:**

> Not really sure what this is. I ended up going down a rabbit-hole of erotic haircare and came up with this. Both Billy and Steve are a bit softer and kinder in this. So I'm sorry if its not the usual anger and angst seen in these characters.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Mmm.” Steve sighs and pushes his face into the mattress. “Haircut. S’all.”

Billy turns over, seeking a comfortable position (not involving himself spread over Steve like jam on a scone), alcohol buzzing in his veins. “Okay.” He wishes he could curl right up into Steve, pull the lanky arms and legs over himself, burrow into the smooth chest and tuck his head up under Steve’s absurd chin. He would do it, but his erection might make it a little odd. Well. Odder than it already is, he supposes, that he should feel so comfortable in bed with anyone other than a lover. “Wanna surf? Or rent some movies? Or maybe games, we could rent something new for the Playstation.”  _Moron—you sound like a fucking freshman_ , he scolds himself. 

“Bill…” Steve’s voice is muffled, just a breath really.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Billy turns away from him, tries to settle his head comfortably on the pillow.

He feels Steve shifting and then one skinny, heavy arm draping over his chest, and Steve’s bare chest pressed against his back, radiating heat through Billy’s t-shirt. “S’okay. Sleep.”

Billy nods. It takes him a while to doze off, because his erection doesn’t want to go away, but Steve’s steady, hot exhalations against his hair, and his own complete inability to move, pinned as he is, eventually calm his brain and cock down. Just before Billy slides into sleep he thinks,  _Wish Steve had got rid of the damn hard-on some other way._

~^~

“Hungover?”

Steve shakes his head, mouth full of cereal. He swallows. “You?”

“No, just a little dry, I think. Dehydrated.” Billy stirs his oats and stares out the window. “D’you want to go surfing today?” It’s not exactly the most welcoming of days; steady grey drizzle weeps down, and the waves will be flat and low—perfect, really, for beginners like Steve, but boring. Hardly worth getting cold and wet for.

Steve makes a face. “Not really. What did Tommy say he’s doing today?”

Billy cocks his head, trying to remember. “I dunno. Think he was a lot drunker than us, though. He’s probably still asleep.”

Steve makes a sound, goes back to stuffing his face. He looks scruffy and unkempt, and pushes his bangs, no, _tufts_ of hair back several times. Billy feels the urge to groom him.

Well, why not? “Did you say you were getting a haircut today?”

“Yeah. My manager at work was complaining again. Just thought I’d chop it right the fuck off.”

“Want me to cut it?”

Steve eyes him warily, spoon half-raised. “Do you know how?”

Billy nods. “My sister taught me. I even have clippers, for the edges.”

“What about scissors?”

Billy shrugs, abandoning his oats. He disappears from the kitchen, reappears with a pair of bona-fide styling scissors. “Yeah. C’mon. Lemme have at it.” He snaps the scissors open and shut with a provocative, flirtatious sound.

Steve grins: a rather messy, cheerio-infested grin. “All right then.”

~*~

“I know for a fact you haven’t washed it yet,” Billy says when Steve lifts an eyebrow. “I can’t cut it with all that gel shite and spray still in.” He claps his hands like a flamboyant stylist, towel draped over one arm, and Steve smirks and obediently moves to the chair Billy has positioned at the edge of the sink. The scrape of the chair legs echoes in the small loo as he hitches himself back. “Now slouch down,” Billy instructs. “Oh, wait.” He tucks the towel along the edge of the sink. “That should be more comfortable.” He pulls his shirt off.

“What’d you do that for?” Steve asks, peering at him from his odd angle.

“Don’t wanna get wet,” Billy says.

Steve struggles upright again. “Well fuck that, me either.” He pulls his shirt off, too, tossing it into a corner before slumping back into his reclined position.

Billy takes a deep breath. This would be a bad time to get hard. Considering that he might manage to poke Steve in the ear with it. “Okay.” He turns on the water, lets it run over his fingers and adjusts until the temperature is right. All his supplies are lined up. Cup, the pouring of water for; shampoo, manly sandalwood-scented stuff he uses himself; conditioner, same. He fills the cup and pours it gently over Steve’s head, gauging the water’s fall so it won’t run into his eyes, which sag shut. 

“Mmm.” Steve’s whole body relaxes. “Feels good.”

Billy bites his lip and continues pouring water, rubbing his fingers through Steve’s hair tentatively to make sure everything gets wet. Maybe just a little more than strictly necessary, because he really likes the way Steve feels under his fingers, even if it’s just his scalp, his wet hair. Billy finds himself humming and stops. “You’re not allergic to any kind of shampoo?” he asks.

Steve’s lids slide up. “Whuh?”

Billy grins at him. “Christ, Steve, okay there, man?”

Steve smiles as his eyes sag closed again. “I love having my hair washed.” Billy waits patiently for him to process.  _There_  it is—his eyes open again, halfway. “Oh. No, not allergic to shampoo. That I know of.” He grins and Billy watches, bemused, as his lids flicker and close again. 

Billy squirts a generous dollop of shampoo into his hand. Hesitates and then begins working it through Steve’s hair. He’s humming again. Steve is humming, too, or—Billy stops again, massages Steve’s scalp gently and listens. Not so much humming as…  _mmm_ ing. Little, happy, sensual sounds that make Billy simultaneously want to laugh his arse off and straddle Steve in the chair. He breathes deeply, fighting back a fit of giggles, and continues his work. So Steve likes it?  _Loves it_ , he said. All right, then. Billy takes his time, gives Steve more than his money’s worth. Which, since he isn’t paying anything, is easy to do. Billy wonders if Steve might be persuaded to pay him with a good, hard shag. Snorts a little, and rubs Steve’s hair gently.

“You laughing at me?” One chestnut-brown eye cracks open.

Billy pushes his fingers into Steve’s hair right at the temples, presses back and down and smirks as Steve’s eye flutters closed again, as his lips part softly. “You’re such a girl sometimes.”

“I know what feels good,” Steve protests weakly as Billy rubs small circles along the back of his neck, massaging the lather all round his head. “Nnnnngh.”

Billy laughs softly. “Girl,” he repeats, almost trying to normalise his ever-growing attraction to this Bambi-like boy. “Rinsing now.” And he fills the cup and pours cupful after cupful over Steve’s wet, shaggy head, sliding his fingers through the wet strands to get all the soap off. “Now, conditioner.”

“And you—” Steve pauses and clears his throat as Billy begins to rub the cool, slippery stuff through his hair— “you call me a girl.”

“There’s nothing girlish about proper hair care,” Billy remonstrates.

“I know your hair is very dear to you,” Steve smirks. “Seeing how much you like having it pulled during sex.”

Billy wraps his fingers into Steve’s hair and yanks. Hard. “Watch what you say, Harrington, unless you want Mr. Billy’s Special Instant Do. And besides,” Billy adds nervously, “how do you know that?”

“Fucker!” Steve spits, but he subsides immediately as Billy rubs deeply behind his ears. “Fucker,” he sighs again. “And I have ears, Hargrove. Kinda hard to not hear you beg for your hair to be pulled. You’re noisy as hell.”

“Just keep your dirty mouth off my hair—” Billy coughs suddenly— “and we’ll be fine.”

“Mmmm. ’Kay…”

Billy continues the scalp massage with the conditioner, letting his mind wander. Letting his eyes wander. Steve has such a nice body, really. The surfing has given his skin a golden tone, and he’s always been in decent shape—at least since Billy’s known him—but he’s beginning to fill out a little from the skinniness that made him all elbows and knees a year ago before they graduated and moved out here.

How long has Billy been rubbing Steve’s head?

He looks back at his work. Steve appears to be asleep, or at least comatose; his hands are lax and loose on his thighs, knees sprawled apart and bare feet flat on the floor. He isn’t fidgeting as he usually does.

Billy extricates his fingers from Steve’s wet hair and reaches for the cup.

“Noooo,” Steve moans, and Billy starts laughing.

“I’m just going to rinse it,” he says. “My god, I’ve never seen someone get off on a scalp massage like that.” He fills the cup and begins pouring warm water over Steve’s head again, gently pushing the water along the strands and working it through.

“Oh please,” Steve says. Speaking is obviously an effort, but he slurs on. “Obviously you’ve just never had a decent one if you say that.”

“Obviously not,” Billy says, still smiling to himself. Steve’s face is so beatific. Or slack-jawed, maybe, though his lips are closed.

Steve smiles slightly, eyes closed. “You give as good as a pro.”

“I’ve always been told I give good head,” Billy says, and then bursts into peals of laughter right along with Steve, whose eyes pop open and then squinch shut as he laughs. “All right, all right, you’re done,” Billy gasps, turning off the water. He grabs for another towel and wraps it around Steve’s head, scrubbing roughly and then pulling Steve upright. 

Steve reaches up and rubs his hair with the towel until it’s more damp than wet. “Now what?” he says a moment later, the towel around his neck.

 _Now I snog you senseless_. “Now let’s, uh, scoot the chair away from the sink and I’ll get everything set up.” So Steve scoots the chair, and Billy rummages out the clippers and lays them on the counter beside the scissors. He also manages to find a comb, though it’s been a long time since he did more than push his fingers through his hair as a styling method. “Now you just sit still and I’ll butcher—I mean delicately cut—your hair.”

Steve snorts but does as he’s told. “No butchering,” he says.

Billy pulls the towel off Steve and then re-drapes it. “You have to hold it in the front,” he says. “’Fraid I don’t have any of those nifty little clippies.”

“Then I’d know you were gay.”

Billy waves the comb around, looking at Steve in the mirror. “But how do you know I’m not?”  _Because I am. At least a bit. Sometimes_. He begins combing through Steve’s hair.

“Considering how much you talk about tits, I’m pretty sure you’re not gay, Hargrove.” Steve’s shoulders are rounded and relaxed, but his left leg has begun to bounce slightly. Billy combs and combs, the conditioner easing the way, until Steve’s hair is flat and smooth, hanging into his eyes and along his cheeks and neck.

“I do love a good pair of tits,” Billy says. “But.” He decides he should shut up, and picks up the scissors. “Keep your leg still, Harrington. Don’t want to cut you.” Snip snip snip. He starts at the back of Steve’s neck, sliding the cold metal along it and then closing the blades quickly, efficiently.

Steve’s silent for a long time; one hand holds the towel and the other tugs at the terrycloth hem where it drapes over his chest. Billy moves up the back of Steve’s head, using the comb to pull locks out and the scissors to trim them. “Back’s done,” he says at last, moving around to Steve’s right side.

It’s soothing, this. Occasionally Billy stops what he’s doing and runs his fingers through Steve’s hair, seeing how it settles; then he’ll drag the comb through it again and go back to the patient work of snipping away. He isn’t quick about it, but he’s careful. Steve keeps his legs still, but his fingers flutter from the towel to his leg and back quite a bit. Billy almost smiles. Never can keep still, unless he’s sleeping or acting. Or having his hair washed. Billy hums, something quiet and wandering and soothing.

“But what?” Steve’s voice sounds loud in the little cocoon they’ve woven around themselves.

“Hmm?” Billy scritches Steve’s head, messing his hair up and then finger-smoothing it again. “A little shorter over your ears,” he says to himself.

“You said you do love a good pair of tits, but.” Steve’s hand is quiet again, lying loose in his lap.

Billy feels his face going pink. “Did I? Hmm.” He moves to Steve’s left side. “I do love a good pair of tits, but.” Deep breath, and he drags the comb slowly through Steve’s hair again. Why is this so hard? He came out to his sister with less hesitation, for Chrissakes. “But I am also not averse to a good pair of legs.”

“Uh-huh.” Steve sighs and shifts.

“Be still.” Billy holds the scissors over Steve’s left ear. 

“Sorry.” Steve watches him in the mirror; Billy meets his eyes for a second and smiles, a little flicker of nerves, before he uses the comb to lift the hair again, looking down at his work. Steve’s next words startle Billy, but he doesn’t (luckily) chop off anything vital. Like an ear. “Anything else you like?”

“What? Oh.” Clip clip clip. “Ah. Well. Yeah.”

“Do tell.” 

Billy lifts his eyes again. Steve’s still watching him and this time it’s Steve who smiles faintly. Not a smirk, is it? No. Not at all. Probably.  _You’re paranoid_ , Billy thinks at himself. “Well if you must know, Steve—not that it’s any of your business—I’m not averse to a good pair of legs attached to—” clip clip, pause— “different bits than what women have. Too.” Clip clip. Shit. Have to stop that or he really will butcher Steve’s hair; Billy puts the scissors down and combs through again.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Steve doesn’t sound... surprised. Or anything, really, except curious.

Billy turns away to plug in the clippers. “Depends. If you think I’m saying that cinnamon sticky buns are the best thing since sliced bread, then no.” He fits a guard on and clicks the power button on the clippers. One hand settles firmly on the crown of Steve’s head, tilting it downward so he can get at the back of his skull.

“That’s not what I think you’re saying,” Steve says into his own chest; Billy pretends not to hear him. He concentrates—hard—on using the clippers. Up and up but not too far, just enough to blend with what Billy has already sheared. Around to the left, and Steve tilts his head right, gazing straight at Billy’s reflection. The other side and another obliging head-tilt. 

Clippers off, guard removed. “That’s not what I think you said,” Steve repeats.

Clippers on, and again Billy pushes Steve’s head down. “Good,” he says over the hum of the tiny motor. “Because you’d need to have your hearing checked if that’s what you thought I said.” Careful. Billy has to be careful here—he stares at the clean lines of Steve’s neck as the clippers bare it, buzzing away at the fine hairs that are all that remain on his nape. Billy brushes the hair away as he goes, fingers dusting over Steve’s neck.

To the left, and again that helpful tilt of Steve’s head in the other direction. Billy folds one ear—ridiculous thing—down and trims the edge there; just for the hell of it he also clips Steve’s sideburn to a decent length, smiling to himself.

Over to the right side, and repeat, and oh shite, there’s nothing to do now but turn the clippers off. Billy holds them in his hand for a long moment, staring blindly at Steve’s head, and then he does it—he turns them off.

“Looks good,” Steve says, and Billy chances it—yes, Steve is looking at himself in the mirror this time, not at Billy. “Thanks.”

“Let me just comb it once more and make sure I haven’t left any ragged ends,” Billy replies. 

He has the comb in hand when Steve speaks again. “So you’re bisexual.”

“Uh-huh.” Fuck. Only says that when he’s nervous. Deep breath. “Yes.”

“What’s... when did you know?”

 _Fifteen seconds after I saw you_ , Billy nearly says with a grin, but doesn’t. For one thing, it would be a lie; for another, it’s such a cheesy pick-up line he’d never forgive himself. Besides, Steve might want to know… for other reasons. Billy murderously quashes any hope he might possibly feel. “I dunno,” he says. “Well, that’s a lie. I guess I just always knew. Puberty is when I really figured it out though. When I was about fifteen was when I first kissed a, a boy.” He combs Steve’s hair steadily, thoroughly, well beyond any reasonable need for it.

“Wow.”

“Wow—what? It’s no big deal. Means I have a larger dating pool than most, is all.” Billy smiles as wickedly as he can manage and runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. “And I’m done. That’s as good as it’ll get, I’m afraid.” He steps back.

“You’re quite good,” Steve says, tilting his head at his image in the mirror. “Slow as fuck,” he adds.

“Very little practice,” Billy says, sitting on the closed toilet lid.

“S’okay. The more time spent playing with my hair, the better,” Steve says. “I ought to rinse myself.” He carefully unwraps the towel and looks at Billy for instruction on what to do with it.

“Just—fuck. Didn’t think of that...” Billy takes the hairy cloth and shakes it over the tub. “Wash it down the drain—I don’t suppose there’s quite enough to clog it.”

Steve nods and stands, brushing stray hairs off his chest and onto the tile. “I’ll sweep up,” he says, and Billy makes a noise that means  _No, no, don’t worry about it, I’ll do it, you go ahead and do your thing, you’re a guest_. Steve leans past him to turn on the shower and grabs the nozzle, sweeping a spray of water down the ceramic basin, washing the hair away.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Billy says, hunching, standing up, trying not to overbalance and lean against Steve. He feels a strange sense of relief at having told him, and something else—Fool of a Boyd—at Steve’s non-reaction.  _What did you expect?_  Billy asks himself.  _Just because you’ve thought, sometimes, that maybe Steve is, too_ — He stops himself.  _Idiot_.

Rising while Steve is standing in the small space between toilet and tub is tricky, and the two men are nearly chest to chest when Billy makes it upright, his head resolutely turned toward the door. When Steve puts one hand on Billy’s bare arm, Billy has to turn his head—Steve wants his attention. And when Billy turns his head, he’s almost nose-to-nose with Steve.

“Yes?” Billy says.

“I was thinking maybe you could stay.” Steve’s eyes are a peculiar shade of brown-black; they’re enormous, this close, and his eyebrows are lowered, tense, though his mouth is soft. A dusting of clipped hairs is barely visible over his cheekbones, the angular bump of his nose. “If you wanted to.”

“What do you want me to do?” Billy asks. He swallows.

Steve leans forward and presses his lips to Billy’s—just for a moment. Barely more than a peck, but Billy feels dizzy from it, and suddenly sees the flush of red across Steve’s cheeks and neck, bright against the sharp edges of the haircut.

“Maybe shower with me,” Steve says.

Billy lifts one hand to brush at the soft fringe over Steve’s forehead; when he draws it back his fingertips are coated with fine hairs. “I’d like that,” he says. “I could wash your hair again.”

“I could wash yours,” Steve agrees.

They kiss properly, two men crowded into a small space. Steve’s bare chest stutters against Billy’s and his mouth is warm and sweet, hands flat on Billy’s waist, just above his shorts. Billy closes his eyes and pulls Steve close, one hand rising of its own volition to stroke, again and again, through the hair at Steve’s nape. Steve sighs against his lips when they stop, and Billy laughs. 

“The way to your heart really is through your head,” Billy says.

“Mmm. Kiss me some more,” Steve replies, eyes still closed, nuzzling at Billy’s face with his nose and lips and tongue. Billy complies, and laughs again when Steve reaches for his hand and puts it squarely at the back of his neck.

They get undressed quickly—not much left to take off—and Billy puts clean towels on the lid of the toilet, trying not to stare at Steve. Beautiful Steve, naked and two feet away. “No,” Billy says when Steve moves to hook the showerhead back into its holder. “Give it to me.” He turns on the water and they both step into the tub at the same moment. Billy pulls the curtain to and the light changes to dim, cool blue, filtered by the ocean-coloured plastic. “Turn around,” he instructs Steve, and Steve does. Billy lifts the nozzle and plays the water over Steve’s head, wetting his hair again, holding the spray close so the jets massage the younger man’s head.

“Nnngh,” Steve says, almost a moan. His eyes are closed, body relaxed and head fallen back as he slumps slightly to allow better access. Billy grins and handles him deftly, turning him this way and that to better rinse his hair. When he’s satisfied that all the tiny clippings have certainly whooshed down the drain, Billy hooks the showerhead into its place and reaches for the shampoo.

“Oh, fuck,” but before Steve can ask what’s wrong, Billy hops out of the shower to grab shampoo and conditioner from the sink and then steps back in, careful not to fall. “Got ’em,” he says, holding up his prizes.

“My turn, though,” Steve says. He smiles and takes the bottles from Billy, setting them on the shelf to one side. “I want to play, too.”

“You want to... wash my hair?” Billy asks, pleased.

“I do,” Steve says. “I said I did.” He grabs the shampoo and squeezes a dollop into his palm.

Billy ducks his head into the water to get it thoroughly wet and then turns to face the spray. It feels good pounding down on his chest and belly, and then Steve’s hands are in his hair and Billy sighs with pleasure. “Lovely,” he says, closing his eyes.

Steve’s palms and fingers rub over his scalp, massaging, and Billy settles into it, one hand against cool tile for balance. A few pleasant minutes pass and then Steve’s hands slide down his neck to his shoulders. “Rinse,” Steve suggests, and Billy tightens his eyes and ducks forward into the spray. Steve steps close behind him and reaches up, pushing Billy’s hands gently aside and running his own through the hair until the shampoo must be gone. Billy keeps his head down and rubs his closed eyes; opens them and watches the water streaming down his nose, off his fringe, down his chest. 

“And conditioner,” Steve says, pulling Billy backward, but he seems in no hurry. He stays where he is and Billy steps back against him, wet naked Steve pressed to his back and Steve’s mouth on Billy’s nape, kissing, licking. His hands slide down to Billy’s biceps and he squeezes. “Always liked your arms,” Steve murmurs. “It’s hot. How much bigger they are than mine.”

Billy lets his head fall back onto Steve’s shoulder, tacit invitation to his neck; as Steve obligingly mouths there, Billy presses his bottom backward. Steve is half-hard, his penis nudging its way into the cleft of Billy’s cheeks, hardening as Billy moves a little. “This is where I make the expected joke about having other large body parts that you might not expect,” Billy says. His hands don’t quite know what to do; he reaches back and puts them awkwardly on Steve’s hips, pulling him forward, holding him there.

Steve snorts and stands on tiptoe—Billy feels the slide against his back and arse—peering over Billy’s shoulder. “Hmm.” Then he’s gone, stepped away.

Billy turns to see him measuring a gloppy palmful of conditioner into his hand. “That’s the best you can do?  _Hmm_?” Billy raises one eyebrow.

Steve shakes his head and grins, propping his free hand on his hip. “Small man’s blessing.” He snickers and shimmies his hips, waving his cock at Billy. Before the Californian can do more than laugh, Steve has plopped the conditioner onto Billy’s head and begun massaging it around; Billy’s almost-formed retort dies away to  _ngggghhh_  as Steve works his long fingers over his scalp. “Now it has to sit there for a minute, the bottle says.” Steve steps close to Billy again, waving his hands into the spray behind him, rinsing the conditioner off. “Whatever shall we do for a minute?” His hands land with a wet smack on Billy’s ass.

“Confident little fucker, aren’t you?” Billy says, but he’s already leaning forward, already breathing onto Steve’s mouth, pressing himself full-length against Steve’s body. 

“You’re naked and letting me rub things into your hair, Hargrove.” Steve’s eyes look browner, now, picking up the thin light through the shower curtain, or the water around them. “I think I have every right to be confident. Plus I’ve waited long enough…”

His smile is cheeky, one corner of his mouth curving higher than the other, and— _So fragile_ , Billy thinks. And:  _Beautiful_. He just smiles back, though. “I think we both have every right to be confident,” he replies, reaching between them to squeeze Steve. “How long—” Steve squeaks and Billy snickers and starts again: “How long did you say that conditioner has to stay on?”

“A minute.” Steve says the words into Billy’s mouth, massaging his ass and Billy’s hand is trapped between them but it doesn’t seem to matter—he doesn’t want to let go and Steve doesn’t seem to want him to, either, considering that he’s gone from half-hard to complete with two slow pulls.

They kiss, smiling and then not-smiling, eyes sinking shut and the water beating down on Billy’s back, on Steve’s hands on his arse. Everything is wet and slippery and good and they kiss for at least a minute. Maybe two. Maybe five, grinding into one another, groping, hands sliding across wet skin, squeezing, pulling. “Ah—” Billy gasps. He breaks away and steps backward into the spray, looking at Steve and smiling for an instant before he tilts his head back to let the water get rid of the conditioner. When he’s finished he rubs his face and looks at Steve again. “Bedroom?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, but when they step out of the shower (turned off with a hasty slap of Billy’s hand), Steve presses him back and kneels in front of him. “Or here.”

Billy yelps as his bare back makes contact with the bathroom wall. His eyes roll back and his head thumps against the tile an instant later when Steve slides his mouth over and down, fingers holding Billy’s hips. Steve’s mouth is hot and wet and he has an insanely long tongue, which he uses well, licking and twisting around the head whenever his mouth is on the upswing. Billy clutches at Steve’s wet hair and juts his hips forward in small, jittery thrusts; Steve matches his rhythm and Billy pants, speechless, thighs tensing as his toes curl into the rough nap of the bathroom rug.

“Mmm,” Steve says; one hand slips down to pull and massage the loose soft skin of Billy’s scrotum and Billy slides down the wall an inch or two, bending his knees slightly, spreading his legs.

“Fucking shameless,” Steve murmurs, pulling off for an instant. Billy’s head falls forward and he opens his eyes to see Steve kneeling, looking up at him, smiling and sliding his fingers into his mouth before he licks at the head of Billy’s cock. 

“Said the man who practically came from a scalp massage,” Billy mumbles, a grin skidding across his face, falling away and gone as Steve bends his head, eyes still locked on Billy’s. He takes the crown of Billy’s cock in and runs his tongue around the ridge again and again, pressing those two wet fingers behind Billy’s balls, massaging and then pushing them up and back to circle and press at his hole. “I don’t think—” Billy lets his head fall back again, barely remembering to keep it from cracking against the tile.

“Don’t think what?” Steve says, drawing back and then sucking again.

“Don’t think I’ll last too long—Steve—” Billy sags against the wall, eyes fluttering closed, and feels his balls tighten, thighs tense.

“Mmm,” Steve says; one finger slides into Billy. Billy makes a sound—breathless and high-pitched, and a minute later he comes, the darkness behind his eyelids splintering as his body shakes and his cock throbs almost painfully, pulsing, spurting into the enclosing warmth of Steve’s mouth.

Steve stays where he is, and when Billy’s finished he draws back and leans over to spit into the waste bin. Billy’s still breathing hard, and he smiles when Steve looks up and meets his eyes. “Thanks,” Billy manages.

Steve climbs to his feet—a groan as his knees click—and leans against him for another kiss. There’s so much to explore here, Billy thinks: Steve’s mouth is so sweet, his tongue muscular and curious. His skin is still damp, and Billy’s hands catch and stutter as he runs them over as much of Steve as he can reach. “Bedroom?” Steve says into his mouth, and Billy nods, this time.

The bed is rumpled, duvet pushed down to the foot, sheets creased and wrinkled from their sleep last night. Steve pulls Billy down atop the mess and wraps himself around him. His arms are strong and wiry, legs the same, and the ridge of his cock presses against Billy’s pelvis. “Let me help you out with that,” Billy offers, and Steve nods and shifts so they can look one another in the eye.

“Can I. I mean, can I...?” Steve’s face is flushed, and he’s chewing a little on his lower lip.

“Can you fuck me?” Billy grins as Steve’s cheeks redden even more. “Yeah, yeah you can.”

Steve fumbles once or twice as he prepares Billy—he’s eager and clumsy with it, and Billy looks fondly at him as Steve concentrates, his mouth hanging open slightly, watching his fingers slide into Billy. Steve’s eyes are dark and soft, half-hidden by his lowered lashes as he looks down at his work.

Billy, for his part, is quiet and still, keeping his legs open and his breathing steady. Steve’s fingers are a tight, slick intrusion that feels good, if almost unfamiliar with disuse. It’s not the tightness that bothers Billy—he has a few toys well-hidden enough that even Tommy hasn’t found them in any of his periodic fits of nosiness, and he’s not shy of using them when the mood strikes—but fingers are light years from smooth plastic, and Steve’s fingers are light years beyond anyone else’s Billy can currently imagine, has ever imagined. Billy doesn’t guess he should be surprised by the rekindling heat in his belly and throat, the tight heaviness of his balls as Steve leans down to lick them, thrusting two fingers rhythmically inward.

“Okay?” Steve murmurs against the skin of Billy’s scrotum, and Billy shivers and smiles and nods, biting his own lip a little. 

“It’s good, I’m good.” He shifts, waiting for Steve to move back (his fingers slide free wetly and he and Steve make identical sounds of disappointment, then half-laugh together) and then leans to one side, pulling open the bedside table drawer. “I’ve got lube, and condoms,” he says. 

Steve smirks, red-faced and cheerful. “I know,” he says, sitting up between Billy’s thighs to accept the offerings. Billy watches him smooth the latex over his cock—he’s a lovely size and Billy’s want ratchets up abruptly, he wants that inside him, quite urgently—and Billy reaches down to cup his own penis, half-hard again already. He massages it gently, conscious of Steve’s gaze, which has moved up and rests on his crotch. “On your side?” Steve ventures after a moment, and Billy nods and rolls away.

Steve’s body presses behind him, kisses laid layer on layer over Billy’s nape and shoulders as he probes briefly with wet fingers once more—Billy sighs and hitches his leg up, opening himself. And then Steve’s pushing inward, his cock thick and slippery, breathing ragged already. “I don’t think I’m going to last more than five minutes,” he says, voice rough with laughter and want, and Billy smiles and turns his head, pressing his face down against the warm skin of his own upper arm.

“S’okay,” Billy says, “I don’t mind.” He slides his hand down his belly and grasps his cock, pulling in the same slow rhythm Steve sets at first, bending away from Steve to give him a better angle and inhaling sharply as Steve’s cock brushes over his prostate, a little flare of pleasure pulsing into Billy’s cock, his balls, the warmth in his belly. “Right there,” he murmurs, and Steve does it again, and again and again and again, moving a little faster, fucking Billy a little faster.

“Jesus,” Billy hears Steve’s mumble; his fingertips press lightly into Billy’s hip, holding him where he wants him, and Billy pulls at his cock faster, eyes closed, breathing into the sheet, his arm, starting to pant and move in counterpoint to Steve’s smooth, quick thrusts. “Ah, Billy,” Steve moans. He shoves himself inward and his hand is suddenly hard on Billy’s hip, fingers digging in painfully as he shudders against his back and arse and thighs, breath whooshing out in a raw-sounding groan. “Fuck,” he gasps, “sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Billy manages through his teeth; Steve’s overheard climax, the weight and feel of his trembling muscles against Billy and within him, have brought Billy near his own peak faster than he would’ve thought possible, and he squeezes his eyes shut and works his cock hard and fast, aware of Steve’s mouth pressing kisses to his shoulder blade, Steve’s hand sliding down and around to cup his balls, bumping into Billy’s fist as it slaps up and down his cock. 

“C’mon,” Steve whispers against the long, thick hair at the nape of Billy’s neck.

That’s all it takes; Billy comes, groaning and laughing at the unexpected jolt of his orgasm, sharp and bright, the muscles just behind his balls tightening painfully as a little come spurts onto the sheets. “Jesus  _Christ_ ,” he pants, rolling forward onto his face (and the wet spot, tacky and already cooling under his thigh), laughing to himself. The movement pulls Steve out, and Billy lies still, listening to the rapid gasp of his breath and the thud of his pulse in his ears; behind them he can hear Steve’s pleased-sounding sigh and the sticky sound of a condom being removed. The bed jounces a bit and then Steve’s back, sprawling over Billy. “Oof,” Billy wheezes, and Steve laughs into his hair.

“We’re going to have to shower again,” Steve says, licking thoughtfully at the back of Billy’s ear.

“Nap,” Billy says, smiling into the mattress, eyes closed, liking the way Steve weighs him down. “First. Nap first.”

Then Steve moves again, to the side, and he pulls at Billy until Billy rolls over to face him. “You know what makes me fall asleep really fast?” Steve says. His face is earnest, eyes tilted into the slightly mad expression Billy might possibly love best of all his expressions, brows canted, set askew above his happy smile.

“I’m guessing it’s something incredibly masculine like having your hair played with,” Billy says, pursing his lips slightly; he can feel his own eyes crinkling with a stifled grin.

“Listen, you’re the one who owns a pair of styling scissors,” Steve points out. He scoots closer and closer, grinning madly, finally lifting his head and letting it fall heavily onto Billy’s chest; he slings an arm across his belly, tucking himself into Billy’s loose embrace. His face is out of sight now, but Billy can feel his smile: it’s warm and makes Billy’s stomach tighten abruptly with something unidentifiable and... well,  _nice_. Really nice. “I wouldn’t go insulting me,  _Mr_. Hargrove.”

“If I play with your hair, will you shut up and let me sleep?” Billy lifts his free hand and combs through the damp strands with his fingertips, dragging them across Steve’s scalp and laughing silently at the shiver Steve can’t hide. Billy keeps doing it, feeling Steve’s head and arm get heavier and heavier.

“...What?” Steve already sounds drugged, and Billy lowers his chin until he can kiss Steve’s head. 

“Nothing. Go to sleep.” Billy falls asleep with Steve’s body slowly pressing the blood out of his left arm, and his right hand tangled in Steve’s hair.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you all enjoyed! I know this is a bit of a different spin on these characters, but I hope you liked it. kudos and comments always appreciated <3


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